To the 7 year old
You are shooting up so fast, I can’t keep up with you or your trouser length. Just when I think I’m on top of things I glance at you as you come out of school and have to work out when you grew another inch and why you are once again wearing half masts.
Your love of football is shining through. I don’t mind standing out there, on the side of a freezing pitch, half as much as I thought I would, because watching you charging up and down scoring goals makes it worth it. I’m a very proud Mum. I thought that you playing for your Dad’s team and he being your coach could be a problem, but it’s only brought you closer.
You are still fairly shy, but nothing like you used to be. Your last parents’ evening at school was brilliant. Because of your early hearing problems and the fact that you would rather be outside than sat at a desk I’ve always worried about you academically but it appears I needn’t have worried. Everything has fallen into place this last year and you are on target.
At seven you are still surprised and perplexed by the fact that you have to brush your teeth twice a day and would rather not bath at all given the chance. Your proudest moment last week was mastering the difficult, but effective, armpit fart. You spend the cold months playing on the XBOX, charging round the house with the dogs, terrorising your sister, immersing yourself in LEGO and given the chance you would eat continuously all day long. You think nothing of joining me up on the moor with the dogs, regardless of the weather, it’s one of your favourite places. In the warmer months you are never in the house, running, climbing, riding bikes, playing football, only coming inside to eat.
I love you my big seven year old boy. Happy Birthday, may seven be all you want it to be and more.